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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007225">Insert Breaking Benjamin Reference</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnidstardis/pseuds/arachnidstardis'>arachnidstardis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Dad Egbert - Freeform, Diary/Journal, Earth C (Homestuck), Epistolary, F/F, Fluff and Angst, June Egbert - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - The Homestuck Epilogues, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Rose Lalonde - Freeform, breaking benjamin has a song called diary of jane, dirk strider - Freeform, featuring appearances from:, there now you don't have to google what is the refrance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:28:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnidstardis/pseuds/arachnidstardis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the game has ended, Jane keeps a journal. These are the entries from one week in September.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Calliope/Jane Crocker/Roxy Lalonde, Jane Crocker/Roxy Lalonde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Images</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yaaaaaaay the Gutsy Gumzine is out!! I'm so proud to be a part of this project - please download the whole zine <a href="https://gumroad.com/l/gutsy"> here</a> and check out the Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/crockerzine">here.</a> </p><p>The first chapter of this fic is the fic in image form, with the formatting I did for the zine; the second chapter is the plain text version so you don't have to drag and zoom the images on mobile. </p><p>Content warning for discussion of mental health, including brief descriptions of a dissociative event; venting/blaming oneself for one's mental health problems; and minor relationship squabbles. If any of the above gets to you, maybe have a friend read it first or catch the next fic!</p><p>(find author commentary in the notes at the very end ;3c )</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Plain Text</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And here's the plain text version!! Same fic as the last chapter, just more accessible.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday, September 7th</p><p>Dear Diary,</p><p>I come to you again with another story of how I have once again blundered my way into being unkind to my partner, even in my own thick skull. Or at least, I think so. I've written this here many times, but your responsibility as my diary is to help me remember what actually happened, in case I remember something different later. I'm writing it again to remind myself more than you, anyways. At any rate, I continue to be frustrated with what I consider to be very irrational and silly, if not outright <em>stupid</em>, reactions to perfectly innocuous things.</p><p>Perhaps this is something to bring up with the very nice Carapacian therapist Callie and Roxy recommended I speak with. I enjoy seeing her every so often to just tell her about what's running through my brain, not in the least because she usually has something insightful and clear-headed to say about my responses. I suppose I can tell you, since you're unable to tell anyone else, that I still remember everything I did while wearing that dreadful tiara. Not even the Carapacian woman knows that, yet. I hesitate to drag my angst into daily life, to bring up to a Roxy that doesn't remember what I did to them what I am feeling... They were right to suggest their and Callie's therapist network, is the point I am trying to make. Basically, I am writing to you because what is infinitely more frustrating to me as a no-nonsense kind of gal are the smaller things that get under my apparently very thin skin. They're especially galling because I've already been absolutely horrid to the point that I can never make up for it, and I continue to feel I'm annoying and difficult to deal with years afterwards.</p><p>For example: Today, as with every other Saturday before it, I woke up with the sun coming through the window and went downstairs to make Roxy and Callie pancakes. There isn't any Bisquick here, which is an out-and-out travesty if you ask me, so I've been forced to prepare my own mix from scratch in order to approximate my favorite, fluffy breakfast food. It still isn't <em>quite</em> the same, but neither I nor anyone I know is exactly raring to resurrect the dreadful fish woman's baking empire. Honestly, I don't know how I still enjoy baking, but it's not like she could pry a decade and a half of culinary experience from this noggin!</p><p>I was telling you about the pancakes, though. Dearest diary, why must my reactions be so gosh-darned strong? I don't trust my own emotions at the best of times and this morning was certainly further from "best" than "worst."</p><p>Roxy is a dear, a sweetheart, and the love of my life, but I must admit I have a soft spot for that artificial goodness that is Pancake Syrup From A Plastic Container, whereas they have been ecstatic to discover what upstate New York maple syrup tastes like. I think they're fed up with the concept of preserved food as a whole, let alone artificial food, because they've gone to a different farmer's market every Thursday to try new food for the last six months. But me? I like my terrible fakey-fake syrup, especially if I can't get Bisquick. There's just a tang to it you can't get from scratch, you know?</p><p>Well, no you don't, you're inanimate paper.</p><p>Blast and damn. I don't understand why it was so important to me that the syrup be the syrup I liked! It didn't need to "ruin" breakfast for me! How can something that I am intensely aware is so small still leave me sitting on the kitchen floor crying at eight am?</p><p>Callie woke up before Roxy and asked me how I was feeling. I know they could see the snot bubbling out of my nose before I smeared it on my apron (another classy move from your favorite Crocker), but they asked anyways. Ever polite, our Callie. I told them what happened and how silly I felt about it, that I could be mad at my partner for forgetting to buy the syrup only I eat and almost rendering pancakes pointless to me when I could just suck it up and have some of her syrup this week even if I like it less...</p><p>Callie put their curious claws on my shoulder and reminded me it was okay for things to be important to me, even if they're not important to anyone else. Logically, I know what they say to be true in the sense that everyone has their own priorities, but I cannot imagine not measuring up what I want to what I feel I'm expected to want. It's been three years since anyone has given me an order or tasked me with doing something I could not say no to, and yet I still feel like I'm waiting for it to start again.</p><p>I suppose that was really the point my therapist was trying to make: You're here to help me remember what's real and what matters to me, even if it seems silly. I guess it's just a fact about me that I like bad pancake syrup, and it's okay to be upset about not getting something small I was looking forward to having.</p><p>I did end up making pancakes for everyone with Callie's help, and they suggested I try pureeing some strawberries with some orange juice to top the pancakes with instead of syrup. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it (since it was something new), but it really worked! Callie has helped me in the kitchen before, and has made some... choice suggestions about how to prepare meat, but I shall have to remember to trust her in the future. I'll probably take their advice at times <em>other</em> than roast night.</p><p>Signing off for now,</p><p>Jane Crocker.</p><p>---------------------</p><p>Sunday, September 8th</p><p>Dear Diary,</p><p>Saturday ended well enough - after the pancake breakfast I puttered around myself in the afternoon, did my usual weekend chores, and we all had a movie night. Roxy has been excited to show us their favorite movies from the late 2010s and early 2020s that I would have never seen and Callie never got around to watching. I'll admit I enjoyed the series of superhero movies they showed us, even though there were SO many, and all three of us loved this odd little movie about a mute woman and a fish monster that Roxy surprised us with last night.</p><p>This morning was alright, too. Sundays are the day I always take time to work in my garden, so I put on my nice old thick jeans, my favorite sweatshirt, and the big sunhat Callie wears into town. The raised beds Jake and Jade helped us put into the backyard are brilliant for not throwing out my back (amazing I have to worry about that at twenty, and at the beginning of my supposed immortality), so my jeans don't get as dirty as they used to at home. Well. This is still my home, but you know what I mean. My old home.</p><p>Anyways, as you're going to become aware, Sundays are "Pancakes, Gardening, and Reading" for me. The afternoon is always for a good book, with so many to catch up on without accounting for millennia that passed in seconds. I have my schedule, and I like it, because I get everything done that I want to do. Roxy even watched me put up my calendar on a bulletin board with all of the scrapbook paper I could get my mitts on in such short notice. My therapist and I talked about that a bit - the routines and the organizing. It wasn't something I really did before, but I've been leaning on more and more. She had mentioned it seemed like it was growing in importance for me, but I didn't realize how important until today, when Roxy asked me if I wanted to go with them and Rose to a book premiere party. Not for Rose; just for a friend whose novel had released that day.</p><p>It was paralyzing. I just sort of stood there in my hat and big cloth gardening gloves and couldn't say anything, thinking about how much I wanted to get to that book next to my armchair and how disappointed in myself that I couldn't do what my partner wanted. Eventually, I just said, "But Sunday night is when I read," and I think Roxy was rather upset by that. They sort of lost a bit of their pep, and I think they really wanted to go with me to this event. How was I supposed to tell them that I just could not switch up what I had planned that quickly? Especially when it isn't their fault that this party was scheduled at a time I always reserve for myself?</p><p>After they left, it took me a few solid minutes to pry my feet from where they were rooted to the floor. I texted Dirk. He doesn't go out much, either; it's probably for different reasons than I have, but it achieves the same result. I told him basically what I told you (you'll have to forgive me if I refined my texts to him into the paragraphs above), and I didn't get a response for a few minutes. When he did get back to me, he just asked what my email address was. He knows what it is, but I think he said it to offer me the opportunity to ask why he needed it. A little while later, he sent me a link to a shared calendar, and another link for an app to download to my phone. Then, he opened up a group chat and asked Roxy to sync up their calendar, and left the group chat.</p><p>Gosh. I appreciate this man so much, but he could have lead with "why don't you two find a way to compare your schedules before the day of an event," like he said after he remotely downloaded the app to my phone for me when I took too long, instead of just doing it for me. Roxy and I are working on him, I swear.</p><p>He did seem to have a point, though - I know Roxy has figured out they need to write down event times for themselves. The problem for them is that I don't see the work they're putting in, and that makes it easy to forget it's happening. We texted a bit in the chatroom Dirk made for us, and that did help. I tried to apologize for not being able to go with them that night, but I was surprised to find that they apologized to me before I could finish. Apparently, they had felt horrible that they hadn't given me enough time to prepare, and had also been frantically texting Dirk.</p><p>At that point, I asked them if they could call me, and they told me sure, they were still driving anyways. When I picked up, we were both sort of sniffly. I told them it seemed to me like we were stuck apologizing to each other for something neither of us really did wrong, and they laughed. They said something to the tune of us working so well together because we were different, but having big problems sometimes for the same reason. I told them I loved them, and they laughed and said the same back, and told me they had to go because they were "rolling up to the party, babe."</p><p>The room was quiet after they hung up.</p><p>What we got to at the end sounded a bit like something my therapist had said to me - every one of us is going to process what the game did to us differently, have different reactions, seek different ways of healing, because all of us had different experiences and are separate people. Somehow I had forgotten that applied to Roxy, too. They had a lot of similar experiences to me inside the game, but once I finally started believing what they told me about how they grew up (and I cannot begin to tell you how embarassed I am about that), it's incredible that it took me until today to finally put those pieces together that they really weren't recovering the same as me.</p><p>I like making things grow, slowly, without any candy-powered enhancements. What has been helping me has been making sure I take the time to experience something wholly, stand in a moment and register every sense to remind myself that I am here, I am the only voice in my own brain, I am in control of my own body. Here, in the home we made, I don't feel I need much else. I am still trying to focus very intently on very small things.</p><p>Roxy takes a road trip almost every week, trying as many new things as they can. Our pantry and fridge are full of organic and locally-grown ingredients they bring back for me to cook with; the bookshelves and sidetables are covered in tchotchkes and antique novels they thought Callie would find interesting to look at and draw and read. They've already spent too much time trapped in one place to miss much of what's going on in our new world, and I can't say I blame them, at all. Even if I can't really bear to go with them a lot of the time.</p><p>Calliope also takes pleasure in small things, running their claws lightly over the cover of every new novel, looking at the binding in the sunlight, flicking their thin forked tongue to taste the pages. Sometimes they join me in the garden, finding small lizards and large insects in among the plants and relocating them for me. They speak to each one as they walk it from the beds to the fence at the edge of the yard.</p><p>I've been learning how to make my own compost, using the scraps of vegetables and fruits left over from meals I make with the spoils of Roxy's outings. Next year, whatever spare energy we couldn't take advantage will help us grow vegetables, and maybe we can send some of what we grew back to those people.</p><p>I'm rambling, I suppose. Not that you can care, but I should maybe try to be more concise. This is for therapy, after all.</p><p>Roxy and I are different; it's obvious, but I really cannot keep expecting them to behave like me. And, it seems like they're also arriving to the same conclusion. I know it's going to be a lot of work, but I think we will be okay.</p><p>Hopefully yours,</p><p>Jane Crocker</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Tuesday, September 10th</p><p>Dear Diary,</p><p>I just got back from board game night with June and Dad! That was a really good break, I think. We try to get together once a month for Family Game Night, me because I moved out and June because... Well. We're far more like sisters, or cousins that are good friends, than we are strangers now that Dad basically adopted her. It has to be strange for him, taking care of someone who looks so much like his own mother, but maybe it's something like a second chance.</p><p>Second chances seem to be coming around a lot. Dad lives in a house almost identical to the one we both grew up in, right down to the flappy little doors in the kitchen entryway. It's missing a fireplace, because power here has been solar for centuries, and there is a distinct lack of taxidermied corpse in the living room. I must say, it makes it a fair amount easier to set up the coffee table for "Bust The Corporate Monopoly" now than before. Our return to this world with Dirk and Roxy's history troves sort of spurred a wave of nostalgia for past millennia. New game-makers mish-mash decades together and produce odd cultural responses, such as this "Anti-Monopoly." That's how Dirk described this game when I unwrapped the packaging two years ago, anyways.</p><p>We were halfway through the game, June rolling to see if her motion to enact a trade policy requiring up-front fees or debts in workforce training programs to be disclosed to applicants would pass. I was prepared to play a card that would assist her, as the name of the game was mutual cooperation, but she made the roll neatly and cheered. When we had first played this game, we followed the rules to the letter and read out the little historical blurb in the rule book, learning about the real 21st century history this board game was based on. Now, we all cheered for the end of tractor-trailer indentured servitude and moved on to the next turn.</p><p>Dad picked up the dice and asked how our weeks were as he landed on a high-speed railroad and contributed to the public transportation fund. June drew a card, added a point to the "people's power" meter in the middle of the board, and began chattering away about her and Kanaya's latest endeavor to coax Rose into letting them read her manuscript draft. I let her talking wash over me as I tapped the party hat piece around the start position, and paused to decide between the choices of bonus: one skill point to attribute as I pleased, or one point to the "people's power" meter. I chose the former, allocated a point to "mechanized crafts," and prepared to use the skill bonus to roll to improve the factories on a square I had helped free from corporate control.</p><p>It was more than a bit on the nose, if I'm being honest, but Dirk rarely gave gifts without an ironic meaning.</p><p>June finally couldn't talk about Rose's book any longer, which was honestly surprising, and the two of them turned to me. I ended up veering a bit into talking about the conflict Roxy and I had been having, and my dad had some wisdom to share. He rarely doesn't, but this time I found I actually wanted to hear what he had to say.</p><p>To my shock, he just sort of said what I already knew - that it's alright for me to react differently to things than Roxy, and even in ways that I don't necessarily want to.</p><p>The last bit was new, I suppose, but between my therapist and my own writing here, I had come to the conclusion Roxy and I were our own people already.</p><p>Then he said something I absolutely have heard but people still think I need it drilled into me - that it's not my fault how I feel, just how I react. He's right, obviously, but the thought of it just sent me back into thinking about all the times I reacted in a way I did not want to, and hurt Roxy, or someone else.</p><p>They both must have sensed my drop in mood, because June "accidentally" flipped the board over and announced that it was an excellent afternoon for a movie, and hopped up to flip through Dad's DVD collection. He still insists on physical copies of media, so Dave alchemizes him movies when he asks for them. Dad sat on one side of me on the couch, June on the other; once we were all settled, she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over the three of us. I managed to stay awake for "Face/Off," but fell asleep by the time we were halfway through "The Magician's Apprentice."</p><p>I think I like having a slightly bigger family, with a sister. I like the reassuring warmth of my relatives next to me as we watch a movie together. It feels like something remembered, something nostalgic, except I haven't ever had a sibling before.</p><p>Found family is important, but shucks if I'm not thankful for the family we were born into as well.</p><p>Tiredly yours,</p><p>Jane Crocker</p><p>--------------------</p><p>Wednesday, September 11th</p><p>Dear Diary,</p><p>I guess I should have known better than to overexert myself not too long after I did a pretty significant amount of socializing, but here we are, in the attic where the light is dimmer and I can pretend I came up here to enjoy the bean bag chair instead of that I'm sort of hiding from my partner.</p><p>That was rather ominous. Let me back up. I wanted to make it up to Roxy that I couldn't go with them to the book party on Sunday night, so I agreed to accompany them to their farmer's market this week. We went a day early for Roxy - I always have free time on Wednesday afternoons, and this particular location is only open on Wednesdays.</p><p>It was a half-hour train ride to the place Roxy had looked up. We sat on the train with the foldable shopping cart they'd purchased a while back, watching the scenery go by. I hadn't been out this way since the seasons started shifting. Leaves are starting to fall to the ground. I suspect, like the last week or two, we will be bringing home the descendants of squash, apples, and pumpkins. They have the same names, but they're slightly different than what I remember. It's a heck of a cooking challenge!</p><p>When we arrived, it felt more like a fair than a market or store. There were tented booths set up, sure, but they were colorful cloth and all shapes and sizes. It was far from the uniform white plastic mass-produced tents I'd seen at farmers' markets in Washington. Consorts rolled small wagons of produce from a nearby farm out to the tents, and a solartruck arrived at one point to drop off some apples. A group of children, carapacians and trolls and humans, rushed over to the truck. They clamored to get a sweet piece of fruit from the iguana and turtle truck drivers, who had begun unloading crates from the back. Some adults followed the kids over to help unload the truck, and Roxy jumped to do the same.</p><p>Really, I was fine until we had been there for a while. I haven't been around or talked to so many people in ages and ages, and I didn't realize exactly how much it was bothering me until we got some food to eat and it didn't settle my stomach. I started to feel tired, more tired than I had in a long time, and I didn't feel like I could even speak anymore. I waved Roxy off to help, and wandered over to a large tree with several boulder-sized pumpkins resting near the base. There were also some straw bales, and I sat on one, leaning against an oversized gourd.</p><p>We had been there for only an hour or two, and Roxy had been excitedly chattering about the fair events, which were due to start for adults a bit later. The kids' donut-eating contest and sack race had already happened, and I had watched Roxy rather than the competitions because of the stars in their eyes. It struck me again how much they had missed as a kid. And there I was, unable to even get up and help the nice people who organize the entire event, for reasons that made no sense to me. Why was I so damned tired just from small talk with a few very nice farmers?</p><p>Roxy found me after they were done carrying a few crates to a recently-unfolded table. I think they could tell something was wrong pretty quickly, and asked me if I needed anything. I just shrugged, and leaned on them, and they sort of sighed and asked if I wanted to go home. They smiled at me, and put their arm around me, but I must have annoyed them, right? I apologized a few times on the way home, and they smiled and pet my hair a bit and told me I hadn't done anything wrong, but I can't shake the feeling I took something fun away from them.</p><p>I'm up here in this beanbag chair with the fog mostly evaporated off of my brain like the sun finally came out, but it's almost dark out the window. I was supposed to do something nice for my partner today, and I ruined it. I don't have much else to add - this just frustrated me.</p><p>Hopefully I have better news for you soon,</p><p>Jane Crocker</p><p>------------------</p><p>Thursday, September 12th</p><p>Dear Diary,</p><p>Roxy woke me up this morning by making me eggs over easy with bacon and biscuits, and bringing it right to me in bed. I was sort of fuzzy at first, and then the bacon smell hit the back of my head and I was very much awake. They brought the cat in, too, and we all snuggled at the headboard. The cat got bits of bacon fat because Roxy spoils him.</p><p>Roxy asked me what happened yesterday. I suppose I should have expected that - they care about me. I told them what I had felt. I didn't really know what it was before, but as I explained it to Roxy, they nodded and told me it sounded like I had either had an anxiety attack or experienced some sort of dissociation.</p><p>I was going to argue, but they shushed me with a forkful of eggs and told me I didn't get to say I hadn't had it bad enough for that to happen to me. I sort of glared at them, but that was what I was going to say. Roxy knows that, because my therapist told me to tell them, but I can't say I don't still think it's a little true.</p><p>They pulled out their phone and sort of snuggled into me, stealing a piece of biscuit form my plate and dipping it in the jam they had put in a shot glass on the side. I put one arm around them and scooped some of the eggs up with my fork, following it with some biscuit and runny yolk.</p><p>Roxy didn't ask me to do anything - we just sat in bed all morning, joined later by Callie. They tended to sit apart from us, usually, but Roxy had gotten them a long body pillow with a faux-fur outside, and they like to lay on top of it and read at the end of the bed. They both fell asleep in the afternoon sunshine, the cat settled between us, and I managed to wiggle my journal out from under my alarm clock without disturbing Roxy to write this.</p><p>I didn't think I'd really get here, honestly. Things are far from perfect, yes; I still find myself unable to go out among all of the <em>people</em> just yet, and I'm still... estranged from some of my friends, to put it lightly. I am not at all where I thought I would find myself at this age. I can't even stand the thought of putting on a pencil skirt, let alone walking into a board room and giving a presentation on facts and numbers and projected growth. It almost haunts me, the idea that I would be disappointing my sixteen year old self.</p><p>But do you know what, my patient listener? I don't really care for the approval of someone I had to leave behind a long time ago, even if that someone was who I used to be. When I actually sat down and listened, really listened, to what Roxy had to tell me about how they grew up, instead of outright denying it, finally disavowed of my notion there could be nothing fantastic or out of the ordinary to life, I was forced to consider that I was wrong. Poor Roxy and Callie have put up with years of my arguing and difficulty accepting some hard truths, over and over, but I think I've come a long way. I don't have to hold myself to some standard given to me by people I never met who never truly cared about me. Their world is dead, and my world is a lazy afternoon with the people I love, just resting. Nothing else - just resting.</p><p>Carefully optimistic,</p><p>Jane Crocker</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some thoughts and author commentary on the setting:<br/>Jane, Roxy, and Calliope live in a big old Victorian-style house that's painted a sunny yellow color with dark blue shutters that they all painted together. They also painted all the rooms on the inside :)<br/>All three identify as some sort of sapphic. Roxy is genderfluid, Callie is agender, and Jane is nonbinary butch.<br/>I'm a big lefty softie at heart so I'm imagining this world as a massive egalitarian society where no one really needs to have jobs (please let me dream), so it's not necessarily an issue that Jane doesn't get out much in a punitive way. She just sort of, um. Probably needs some more mental health support. That being said, the therapy is super duper free. Gratis. Healthcare is free on Earth C bite my ASSSSSS.<br/>Carapaces do sign (thanks <a href="https://mspfa.com/?s=32792&amp;p=1">Kittyquest</a> for that one) here, and everyone did learn CSL (Carapacian Sign Language) to talk to them.<br/>Jane is really, really hard on herself. 3: This is mostly to showcase that recovery is nonlinear, and hard, and kind of a constant process!!! It's something I'm still working on too :') Sometimes trauma bubbles up in weird and unexpected ways, or you're ignoring so much bullshit that small things can upset you!! It's okay!!<br/>I also really like cooking, and unlike Jane I much prefer to make my own pancake mix from scratch and get the reALLY good maple syrup from Canada or New England. (It's been years since I've seen real vermont maple syrup please send help!!!) The topping Callie made is real, too - it's called a compote! Here's <a>a recipe I found for a strawberry compote</a>, but I usually just wing it when I make mine.<br/>WOW JANE SURE IS SET IN HER ROUTINES I WONDER WHY THAT IS oh wait it could be a variety of mental health conditions including but not limited to ADHD, autism, OCD, PTSD, and a few other things!! If your routines are important to you just know I feel u bud.<br/>Dirk doesn't go out and is really curt with Jane and Roxy because he's too busy watching every single Naruto episode in order. He does this when he's depressed. <a href="https://pacja.org.au/2020/08/using-the-manga-anime-naruto-as-graphic-medicine-to-engage-clients-in-conversational-model-therapy/">There is a study that indicates this may actually be a good thing for his depression.</a> If he had, like, guided questions and shit he was doing along with it. Also Jane says she loves him because you should tell your friends you love them!<br/>Jane is also learning something called "mindfulness," which can be a horseshit buzzword, especially if you're being told stuff that's unhelpful for neurodivergent minds, but being present and aware of your surroundings can be a good grounding technique, and Jane's learning that by gardening!<br/>PLEASE COMPOST IF YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO BC YOU CAN USE THE DIRT TO GROW A LIL HERB GARDEN AND INSTANTLY IMPROVE YOUR COOKING.<br/>June, Rose, and Kanaya are all dating. So are Jade, Vriska, and Terezi. That isn't in here, but I wanted you to know anyways.<br/>Wednesday also happens to be a pretty good example of how I tend to get when I get blindsided by a schedule change or start a day with a spoon deficit!<br/>I also wanted the ending to not solve everything (because this is just one week), but give a sense of hope for Jane's future character development.<br/>Thanks for reading all this way!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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